


Red Card

by silver_etoile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, merlin's an idiot, sports shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: The only reason, and Merlin meant only reason, he was standing behind the counter in a shop filled from floor to ceiling with sport’s equipment was because his bank account was in the negatives and Gwaine had promised all he would have to do was work the register.In which Arthur comes into the shop and tries to (unsuccessfully) wheedle free stuff out of a stubborn Merlin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember writing this, but my documents says I did sometime last January. Here we are!

The only reason, and Merlin meant _only reason_ , he was standing behind the counter in a shop filled from floor to ceiling with sport’s equipment was because his bank account was in the negatives and Gwaine had promised all he would have to do was work the register. If anyone so much as even sneezed in Merlin’s direction, he would run off to get Gwaine to help them.

“I’m off to the bank,” Gwaine said one afternoon, only two days after hiring Merlin, stepping out from the office and heading for the front door.

“You’re leaving me alone?” Merlin asked, head snapping up from where he’d been thumbing through the football magazine and admiring the player’s thighs.

“No one’s gonna come in,” Gwaine assured him, flipping back his perfect hair and grinning at Merlin like he _knew_ what he was doing. “And if any hot guys do, get their numbers for me.”

“Gwaine, wait!” Merlin said, but the door had already jingled shut and he was alone. Glancing around the small store, Merlin sunk onto his stool behind the counter. He was half-convinced Gwaine only owned a sport’s store so he could stare at the fit blokes all day. Not that it hadn’t been a selling point when Gwaine had hired him.

The fact that Gwaine owned a store and Merlin still shared a flat with two other people and scraped by with temporary jobs until he could finish his night classes was befuddling enough. He’d known Gwaine since they were sixteen, and in the ten years that had passed, Merlin’s situation hadn’t much improved while Gwaine owned a nice store and hired Merlin out of pity.

Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been out of pity, but Merlin certainly didn’t have a lot going for him at the moment. Once he finished his degree, then maybe he’d be able to get one job and get his own flat. What glory it would be not to find wet towels on the bathroom floor and two-week old dirty dishes in the sink. He could only dream.

Merlin sat on his stool, staring at the door, willing Gwaine to return. If anyone came in, he’d be screwed. When the door finally did open, it wasn’t Gwaine that entered but a _very_ fit-looking blond man. The men in the football magazine had nothing on this guy’s thighs. 

Looking away quickly when the guy glanced at him, Merlin busied himself organizing the counter. There wasn’t much to organize, but he swept the magazines to the side and put the football one under the counter. He knew he should ask if the man needed any help, but the thought of talking about sport’s equipment, something he knew less than nothing about, made his stomach twist uncomfortably. It didn’t help that the bloke was probably one of the best looking men he’d seen in, possibly, his life.

Maybe the guy wouldn’t need help, Merlin thought hopefully, chancing a glance. The bloke was browsing football cleats, not appearing to notice Merlin. Maybe he was one of those customers who knew exactly what he wanted.

“Excuse me.”

Any hope Merlin had of remaining invisible was dashed as the man turned to him. Taking a breath, he slid off his stool and rounded the counter.

“Can I help you?” he asked nervously, glancing at the cleats. The most he knew of football was that the players were fit and he liked watching them run in their shorts.

The man gazed at him for a moment, eyes lingering on the temporary name card pinned to his shirt. His eyes were a crystal clear blue, lips a pale pink, and Merlin thought he could definitely get used to seeing that.

“Which would you recommend?” the man asked, nodding at the cleats.

Merlin turned, eyes glazing over the different shoes on the wall. As far as he could tell, there was no difference between any of them.

“Er, well, this one’s metal,” he said, clearing his throat. Where in the fuck was Gwaine? “And, um, that one’s not.”

“I see,” the man said, glancing at Merlin. “And that one’s yellow.”

A blush crept up Merlin’s neck. “Yes,” he said slowly. He just wanted to vanish through the floor, but he didn’t, stuck here beside an incredibly good-looking guy who was now looking at him as though he’d never met anyone as inept. “If you need anymore help, I’ll be over there.” He waved at the counter and slunk back before the man could speak again.

Idiot. That was what he was. Burying his burning face in the football magazine again, he hoped to hear the jingle of the bell to indicate the man had left him to his embarrassment, but it didn’t come. Instead, a box plopped down on the countertop. 

“Found one, did you?” Merlin asked, cringing at his awkwardness and ringing up the cleats as the man stood there, leaning against the counter slightly. His blond hair was wind-tousled, and though he was wearing a suit jacket, Merlin was sure he looked fantastic underneath it.

Now was not the time to be undressing customers, though, and Merlin cleared his throat again.

“That’s fifty-five seventy.”

The man paused and then smiled. Even his smile was gorgeous. Merlin was in big trouble. 

“You could just put it on my tab,” he said, and Merlin swore he winked at him.

“Tab?”

“Gwaine knows.”

Merlin was fairly sure they didn’t keep tabs. This wasn’t a pub. “I can’t just let you have it.”

The man turned more towards Merlin, leaning forward against the counter and tilting his head to the side. The gesture made Merlin’s heart flutter stupidly, against his will.

“Look, Merlin,” the man said, eyes darting to Merlin’s name tag again. “Just tell Gwaine that Arthur came by. He’ll know.”

“I—” Merlin hesitated. It sounded very sketchy, no matter how good looking this Arthur was. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you take these.” He slid the cleats across the counter and put them behind the register.

“I promise I’m not taking the mick,” Arthur said with a half-smile that might have melted Merlin’s heart a little, but he was determined. No one was going to steal on his watch. Even if that someone had a perfect jaw and fingers he drummed on the counter that made Merlin think of things entirely inappropriate for work.

“You’ll just have to pay like everyone else,” Merlin said instead of faltering at Arthur’s smile.

For a second, Arthur paused, licking his bottom lip then straightening up. “Alright. I’ll be back.”

It was a promise, and maybe a tiny bit of a threat. Merlin wasn’t sure. Arthur left without the cleats and the door jingled shut behind him. Merlin let out a breath once he was gone. He felt like he’d been transported back to school and his crush had walked past him. Of course, no one had ever looked at him in secondary and certainly no hot blokes.

Merlin replaced the cleats and took a moment to stare at the wall of shoes. They all looked identical to him.

Taking his place at the register, he flipped the next page in the magazine and tried to forget about Arthur’s strong thighs and charming smile.

Gwaine didn’t return for another half an hour, in which there was blessedly no other customers.

“Where the hell have you been?” Merlin demanded the minute Gwaine entered.

Gwaine arched an eyebrow and tossed a receipt on the counter. He grinned. “Ran into Percy. Finally got his number.”

Gwaine had been flirting with Percy for months, as far as Merlin could tell, making innuendos about balls and cup sizes.

“I’m surprised you haven’t just fucked him in the office yet,” Merlin muttered. He’d seen Percy yesterday, had watched Gwaine talk to him for half an hour in the hockey section, undressing him with his eyes and practically begging for it. Gwaine was always like that, but it seemed even more so with Percy. Merlin almost couldn’t blame him. Percy was almost as good looking as Arthur. Right, Arthur.

“We will,” Gwaine assured him, a stupid smile blooming on his face. “But Percy is a good one. He deserves dinner first then a good round afterwards. Fuck, I can just imagine it.”

Merlin grimaced and cut him off before he could go on. “Anyway, while you were off landing a date, you left me _alone_.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Gwaine said dismissively, glancing around the shop. “Everything seems in order. You could have just gone off to the back and had a good round with that magazine.”

Merlin snapped it shut with a glare. “Someone came in.”

“I hope you sold them loads of useless items.”

“Actually, he wanted free stuff.”

Gwaine merely arched an eyebrow.

“He said you would know,” Merlin went on and Gwaine paused.

“Who was it?”

“Arthur?” 

Gwaine’s mouth curved into a smile at the name, though Merlin didn’t know why. 

“Arthur,” he repeated. “And you didn’t let him have it, did you?”

“Of course not,” Merlin said. “He was taking the piss, right?”

Gwaine nodded vaguely and leaned over the counter. “So what’d you think?”

“Of what?”

“Arthur,” Gwaine said with a significant glance. “He’s pretty fit, hm?”

“So you do know who he is?”

“He comes in all the time. But honestly, Merlin, you’d shag him, right?”

Merlin blustered for a second, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d talked to Gwaine plenty of times about blokes - hell, Gwaine was the first person he’d told when he’d gotten his first blow job. Granted, it had been a pretty shitty blow job from a girl, but he’d closed his eyes and pretended it was the rugby captain instead. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled instead though Gwaine’s knowing smile was enough to make him huff. “Fine, yes, he’s fit, but he was trying to get free equipment just because I’m new.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Gwaine said, clapping Merlin’s shoulder. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to spend the rest of the day thinking about Percy’s ass. Don’t come in the office.”

Merlin didn’t need telling twice.

*

Staring at the painting in his textbook, everything started to blur together. Merlin didn’t understand why Gwaine had to keep the shop open past six in the evening. Especially in the winter. Still, it was nearing eight, and Gwaine had his date with Percy tonight, so he’d left Merlin in charge of the shop. The only good thing was that few people came in this late, so the odds of Merlin having to actually help someone were very low.

Eighteen century French paintings just didn’t have the hold they should have when Merlin could barely keep his eyes open. His head nodded just as the front bell jingled. He snapped upright, blinking away the sleep clouding his mind. He really needed to go to bed early some day, but there was simply too much to do.

Any thought of sleep was banished when he spotted Arthur entering. This time, Arthur didn’t bother browsing the shelves. Instead, he made his way straight for Merlin.

“Hello again,” he greeted Merlin, and Merlin could only nod. He was preoccupied staring at Arthur’s chest, no longer hidden behind a suit jacket. Arthur’s cheeks were pink from the frigid wind outside, hair windswept again, and Merlin wondered if it would look like that after a night in bed. “I take it Gwaine’s out?”

Merlin swallowed in response, like the suave person he was. “Yeah,” he said finally. 

“Did you have a chat with him?” Arthur asked, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. “About me?”

“You? No,” Merlin said sharply. Could Arthur know that Merlin had spent the last three days jerking off to the image of his smile? “Why would you…” He couldn’t come up with an end to that sentence and trailed away as Arthur cocked his head to the side and smiled that same smile that made Merlin’s knees weak. He was glad he was sitting down.

“About my tab,” Arthur replied, eyes sweeping over Merlin. There wasn’t much to look at as Merlin had barely bothered to find clean clothes, and his jacket had certainly seen better days.

“Yeah, I can’t just let you have free stuff,” Merlin said, flushing under Arthur’s gaze.

“I completely understand.” 

“You do?”

Arthur leaned over the counter, coming within a foot of Merlin’s personal space. “You’re a good employee. Granted, you know nothing about sport’s equipment. Isn’t that a pre-requisite to work in a place like this?”

There was no point arguing, so Merlin shrugged. “Ask Gwaine. He hired me.”

“Apparently,” Arthur agreed. He paused, licking his lips slowly, and Merlin looked determinedly away. 

Merlin wasn’t sure what Arthur wanted since he didn’t seem interested in the merchandise. He seemed content to lean over the counter and let his eyes wander over Merlin’s faded Clash shirt. Merlin couldn’t remember anyone else ever staring at him so intently, and he didn’t know what to do faced with Arthur’s gaze. He knew what he’d be jerking off to tonight.

“So did you need something?” Merlin asked finally, watching the way Arthur pushed around a pen on the counter.

“I was coming to ask if you’d gotten the new shipment of rugby shirts, but I don’t suppose you’ll be able to help me.”

Merlin may not have known anything about cleats, but he knew shirts. “We did get them in actually.”

“Fantastic,” Arthur said, not glancing at all in the direction Merlin pointed across the shop. “I’ll take one.”

“Cash or credit?”

Arthur smiled and didn’t reach for his wallet. “Merlin, what’s it going to take for you to put it on a tab?”

“A tab is not a real thing in a retail store,” Merlin pointed out, forcing himself to focus on his annoyance and not on Arthur’s soft smile and the way his gaze never wavered.

“It’s called an account.”

“Correcting me isn’t the way to start one,” Merlin said, but he was less sure when Arthur grabbed the pen he’d been pushing around the counter and scribbled something on the back of a receipt.

“How about telling you I think you’re the cutest incompetent sport’s shop employee I’ve had the pleasure of meeting?”

Merlin bit his lip in an attempt to stop the flush creeping up the back of his neck. Flattery would get Arthur nowhere. Except maybe into his pants if Merlin let him. No. No, he told himself firmly. He wasn’t going to let Arthur charm his way into getting something for free. By the looks of him, Arthur could probably get anything he wanted with so much as a smile. Merlin wasn’t going to be one of those people.

“Calling me incompetent won’t help either.”

Arthur slid the receipt over. On it, he’d written Nicolas Lancret. 

“What?” Merlin asked, confused, and Arthur nodded at his textbook, still open before him.

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Nicolas Lancret painting.”

Frowning, Merlin checked the name. “You read that.”

“Actually, my father has that painting hanging in his foyer.” He pushed himself upright. “You’d be welcome to take a look sometime. Get some art history up close and personal.”

Words deserted Merlin as Arthur headed for the front door. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said as he disappeared into the cold night. A gust of freezing air followed him and Merlin shivered, but he smiled to himself slightly as he reopened his textbook.

*

“I have just one thing to say about Percy,” Gwaine said as Merlin attempted to refold the rugby shirts that somehow always ended up in a giant pile. “He is big everywhere.”

Normally, Merlin would have rolled his eyes, but this was the fourth time Gwaine had brought up Percy since he’d gotten there, and that was quite a change for Gwaine, who normally did one run-through of a “date” before forgetting all about the person.

“I don’t need details,” Merlin reminded him, remembering the time Gwaine had shagged Cenred, a bloke who’d turned out to have a sex swing in his bedroom. That had been one story Merlin had had to bleach from his brain.

Gwaine grabbed a shirt off the pile, not bothering to fold it before he tossed it back. “After dinner, we went back to my flat, and you know those edible underpants—”

“Stop!” Merlin interrupted sharply. He didn’t need to hear anything about either of their pants.

“You wouldn’t be so sensitive if you had someone’s underpants to eat,” Gwaine pointed out, leaning against a rack of bicycle shorts. “When was the last time you were shagged?”

Merlin shrugged. It wasn’t something he kept too close of a watch on. He had never been one to get random shags from strangers like Gwaine. He preferred to actually know who he was sleeping with.

“Maybe Percy has a friend,” Gwaine said, and Merlin didn’t bother to protest. Most likely, Gwaine would forget about this by tomorrow, and besides, there was someone else he would like to eat the pants off of…

*

Merlin wouldn’t say he was exactly prepared for the next time Arthur showed up, but he’d certainly been waiting for it. Of course, he would never tell Gwaine that. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned Arthur to him again since that first time, and Gwaine hadn’t brought it up either. Maybe he’d forgotten.

When the door bell jingled, Merlin’s eyes shot to the door, and he wasn’t disappointed to see Arthur entering. He was, however, caught off guard by the leggy brunette accompanying him. She glanced around the shop with a discerning eye, as though judging everything her eyes fell on, and Merlin was no exception as Arthur led her to the counter.

“Afternoon, Merlin,” he greeted Merlin, and Merlin nodded with a forced smile, watching the woman at Arthur’s side.

She was almost as beautiful as Arthur, though in a dark, foreboding sort of way. She was tall and sharp, green eyes not missing a thing as she took him in.

Arthur ignored Merlin’s sudden taciturn nature. “New rugby magazine in yet?”

Merlin pulled out a copy and handed it over, still watching the woman. She appeared bored, checking her phone with exquisitely-done nails and glancing at him when she seemed to sense him watching. Her mouth curved into a smile, but it was less charming than Arthur’s and more predatory.

“I’m Morgana,” she said, holding out a hand to Merlin. “And you must be Merlin.”

“Er, yeah,” Merlin said, glancing at his name tag. He looked at Arthur, who browsed the magazine. “Unless you’re going to actually pay for that, there’s no reason to look at it.”

Arthur sighed, somewhat put-upon, and closed the magazine. “It’s been, what, two weeks?” he asked with a roguish smile that, aside from the presence of Morgana, might have made Merlin melt a little. “How many times do we have to do this little dance? Gwaine would never have to know.”

Merlin shook his head. The air seemed different with Morgana standing over Arthur’s shoulder. Was she his girlfriend? Merlin had been sure it had been flirting, but maybe it had merely been to wheedle a free shirt out of Merlin. 

“How about I make you a deal?”

Beside Arthur, Morgana snorted, most undignified, and Arthur shot her a look. Maybe not a girlfriend. Merlin couldn’t decide.

“I’m afraid we don’t bargain either,” Merlin replied, glancing between him and Morgana.

Arthur turned to Morgana as she crossed her arms with a smug smile. “Morgana, would you mind going over there?” He nodded across the store.

Uncrossing her arms, she squeezed his arm gently. “Of course,” she said, sickly sweet. “Anything for my dear brother.”

Merlin could swear he heard her laugh under her breath as she walked away. Brother, though. That explained why Arthur shook his head as she left.

“I begged her not to come,” he said, lowering his voice to speak to Merlin. “It’s hard enough to get you to focus when it’s just me.”

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to argue that Arthur was no distraction, but Arthur was doing that thing where he licked his lips and made Merlin’s mouth go dry at the sight.

“So this magazine,” Arthur said, pushing it across the counter. His fingers stayed pressed to the cover and Merlin tore his gaze from the gold ring on Arthur’s pointer finger. “It’s not shoes or a shirt. Surely, we can work out a deal. You put this on my account and I will give you my number.”

Though Merlin’s stomach jumped excitedly, he tamped it down. “What makes you think I want your number?”

In the corner, Morgana hovered by the hockey sticks, but from the way her eyes weren’t moving looking at her phone, Merlin suspected she was listening to every word they said.

“Usually guys who stare at me like you do want more than just my money.”

Merlin frowned after a second. “I’m not trading merchandise for sex. If that’s what you think of me, then you’d be better off trying another sport’s shop.” 

He wasn’t so desperate that he had to give things away to get bloke’s phone numbers. If that was what Arthur thought, Merlin wasn’t interested. He wasn’t for sale like the things in the shop. He didn’t need Arthur trying to buy him off if he wasn’t interested.

Arthur blinked, clearly taken aback. His smile slipped off his face as though Merlin had slapped him, but before he could open his mouth, Morgana swooped in, taking his arm.

“It was lovely to meet you,” she said to Merlin, nails digging into Arthur’s arm as she steered him towards the door.

“Morgana—” was the last thing Arthur said before the door shut behind them. 

Slumping into his seat, Merlin sighed. He grabbed the magazine off the counter and shoved it back into the rack. So much for that.

*

“You’re sunny today, aren’t you?” Gwaine asked as Merlin slammed the register drawer shut. 

“Well, we don’t all have a Percy for morning blow jobs,” Merlin muttered. He’d already heard three times how good Percy was at that particular task.

“Maybe you need one,” Gwaine added under his breath, which only made Merlin glare. “Come on, Merlin. What’s got your wand in a knot? Gwen still forcing herbal tea on you at the flat?”

“It’s nothing to do with Gwen.” It was nothing to do at all with Merlin’s flatmates, even if Will had left dirty dishes in the washroom again. Why the washroom? Merlin still hadn’t figure it out. Was Will snacking during his morning shower? 

Gwaine leaned over the counter, fixing Merlin with an intent gaze that was unusual for this early in the day. “Then it is a lack of blow jobs.”

“Not every problem has to do with sex,” Merlin replied, sliding off his stool and avoiding Gwaine’s following stare. Instead, he headed for the shoe wall and began straightening the boxes, lining them up to the edge of the shelf.

“Which means that’s exactly the problem.” Gwaine came up behind him, crossing his arms and perching against the rack of helmets behind him. “Spit it out, Merlin. Who’s the bloke.”

Merlin really didn’t want to tell Gwaine. When he actually thought about it, it sounded kind of stupid. He was upset because a bloke, that he didn’t even know very well, had tried to exchange a date (Merlin supposed. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time. A phone number, which presumably would have led to something) for a free item. Had it been as bad as he’d thought at the time? Arthur presuming he wanted sex in exchange for something else? Or had it been harmless flirting. Merlin was finding it more and more difficult to tell as the days had passed.

He could feel Gwaine’s eyes on his back, though, as he arranged the boxes. This wasn’t something Gwaine was going to give up. He’d hold on like a dog to a bone.

“Fine.” Merlin sighed at last and turned around, holding up a threatening finger. “But you can’t read into this or make a big deal out of it _or_ tell people about this.”

Gwaine arched an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting for Merlin to crack.

Merlin was going to regret this. He just knew it. “You know Arthur?”

“Arthur?” Gwaine repeated, though by his tone, Merlin already grimaced and wondered if he should just stop right there. What good could come from telling Gwaine? His advice would mostly likely be to shag him over the counter and be done with it. Not exactly Merlin’s style.

“He’s been coming in a bit, always trying to get free stuff, which I always tell him no,” he added for good measure. “And the other day, he tried to trade me his phone number for a magazine.”

For a moment, Gwaine was quiet, drumming his fingers against his arm. “And?”

“That’s it.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Gwaine said slowly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Merlin said, waving his hand despite Gwaine’s frown.

“What does that mean?”

“You would give away free merchandise for a hot bloke’s number.”

“Duh,” Gwaine replied, uncrossing his arms and stepping towards Merlin. “Is this a weird morality thing?”

Merlin huffed. Of course Gwaine didn’t understand. He did whatever it took to get a guy’s number. Merlin was lucky to get a guy to look at him. 

“Arthur just thinks because he’s posh and charming and handsome, that he can get whatever he wants, and he thinks I’ll fall head over heels to do it if there’s a possibility of sex at the end.”

“Haven’t you already?” Gwaine asked, grabbing Merlin’s shoulders and giving him a shake. He smiled, though Merlin didn’t see why. “You think Arthur’s handsome?”

“Have you seen him?” Merlin snapped and Gwaine laughed.

“I certainly have,” he agreed. “I’ve asked him many times to join me in the back, but he says work and pleasure don’t mix.”

Merlin had no idea what he was on about. “What are you talking about?”

Gwaine slid an arm around Merlin’s shoulder and steered him towards the office. “Have I ever told you the story of how I started this shop?”

“Gwaine, I was there when you did it.” Merlin had been there from day one when Gwaine had drunkenly slurred over pints that he wanted to open a sport’s equipment shop. Sure, that had been when they were both eighteen and stupid, but Gwaine had managed to do it somehow.

“Yes,” Gwaine agreed, pushing open the door to the office. Inside, the walls were plastered with posters of football players, rugby, tennis, even a few good-looking swimmers in their tiny shorts. Gwaine pushed Merlin into the chair by the desk and rounded the other side. “But did you ever wonder how I got the money to open up this place? How I got such a good location?”

“No.” Merlin shrugged. He wasn’t much for the business side of things. He was studying art history—not exactly something he needed to understand economics for. 

Digging in the desk, Gwaine pulled out a battered-looking file folder and flipped it open. He pulled out a document and tossed it across the desk. “I have a partner—silent partner, but he owns half the business, does most of the books, and gets as much free stuff as he likes.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say, but he took the paper Gwaine gave him. There at the bottom of a lot of lawerly nonsense was Gwaine’s signature… and Arthur’s.

“Arthur?” he asked finally, looking up. “He’s your partner? Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t I ever met him? You’ve had this store for three years!”

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t ever once met Arthur, or even heard his name mentioned. He was fairly sure he would have remembered someone like Arthur.

“Arthur’s father is a very important man, or at least, he thinks he is.” Gwaine rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t approve of shit like this, so Arthur keeps it quiet. He was the one who thought it would be best to keep this strictly business. No co-mingling of friends.” From the way Gwaine said it, Merlin took it he thought it was stupid. Merlin did as well, but his attention was caught by Arthur’s name on the page again.

“Pendragon,” he murmured. “As in House of Lords?”

“That’s his dad. Uther Pendragon.” Gwaine nodded and took back the paper. He slid it in the file and put it away.

“He’s the son of a lord?” Uther Pendragon was an actual lord, not like half of those pompous politicians who sat in the House of Lords.

“Hence why his father’s such a prick.”

Merlin didn’t even know what to say to that. It didn’t change anything. Except. Shit.

He stared at Gwaine. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Then none of this would have happened.”

Gwaine scoffed. “It was funny! You were so worried about your moral high ground and not giving things away. Plus, I bet Arthur he couldn’t get you to give him something.”

“You talked to him about this?” Merlin could feel his face going red. What else had Gwaine and Arthur discussed pertaining to him? Arthur had clearly known his schedule and when Gwaine wouldn’t be there so he could ambush him. And all for a bet.

“So that’s why he offered his number?” Arthur wasn’t looking any better. In fact, he was beginning to look worse. Slumping in the chair, Merlin crossed his arms. He’d known the flirting had been too good to be true. 

“He _tried_ to give you his number because he thinks you’re cute, though I can’t imagine why when you’re so thick.”

“Why didn’t he just give it to me then?” Merlin wasn’t in the mood. “Why the trading and betting and bringing his frightening-looking sister?”

“Morgana was here? You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighed as though Merlin was the one being difficult here. “What I’m telling you, Merlin, is that Arthur Pendragon—one of the best looking blokes in the entire country—wants to be your morning blow job, and you’re upset because he didn’t ask you out properly.”

“Well, he didn’t do it very well,” Merlin argued. “In fact, he didn’t do it at all. He tried to trade me for a magazine.”

“Hell, I’d do it for a stick of gum,” Gwaine said, sitting back and propping his feet on the counter. “So either fuck his brains out next time he comes in or hand over the magazine. It’s your choice.”

Merlin knew he shouldn’t have told Gwaine.

*

Merlin was torn between relieved and anxious when Arthur didn’t come in during any of his next few shifts. Had Gwaine told Arthur about their conversation? Had Arthur decided Merlin wasn’t worth it? Merlin had ruined it before it had even started.

Gwaine tactfully (a rarity for him) didn’t say anything else after their conversation in the office, though Merlin suspected it had more to do with Percy coming in every other day to “check out the new merchandise” than a mindfulness of his feelings.

Sitting at the counter, Merlin turned up the radio to drown out the muffled noises coming from the office and tapped his pen on the counter along with the beat. He didn’t have much longer before he could go home, curl up on the sofa, and relax with a five hundred page textbook on Italian Renaissance paintings. At least it wasn’t sports.

At the jingle of the front door, Merlin suppressed his groan. So close to escaping his last ten minutes without having to agree vaguely about how someone played in last week’s match.

The groan died in his throat as he raised his head and his gaze fell on Arthur coming towards him. It had been over a week since Merlin had seen him last, and he was back in his suit and tie.

“Er, hello,” Merlin said finally when Arthur reached the counter. “Gwaine’s in the back if you want to—”

A muffled moan cut him off and he grimaced, as did Arthur. 

“I figured he told you by now.”

“Mentioned something about a bet, yeah,” Merlin agreed, the words coming out more stoic than he meant to, and Arthur seemed to feel the chill as he shifted back a step.

“I only came by to apologize,” Arthur said at length, hands in his pockets, back straight, gaze not quite meeting Merlin’s. “I didn’t mean to offend you in any way as I’m afraid that I did. I just wanted to give you this. Goodbye, Merlin.”

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he slid a small piece of paper across the counter, facedown, and turned for the door.

Merlin turned it over slowly. All that was written was a series of number, a phone number. It crumpled in his hand slightly as he almost fell off his stool in his rush to catch Arthur before he reached the front door.

“Wait,” he said, hurrying up to him. “I should apologize too.”

Arthur shook his head, perplexed. “There’s no need for that.”

“I overreacted,” Merlin said, words spilling out as they often did when faced with a handsome, well-dressed bloke. “You were just flirting and I was just stupid.”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head, but Merlin didn’t let him finish.

“How about we forget about what happened and do this properly?” Fishing in his trousers, Merlin pulled out his phone and dialed Arthur’s phone number.

Despite Arthur’s furrowed eyebrows, he pulled out his ringing cellphone and answered.

“Hello?”

“Arthur, it’s me, Merlin.”

Arthur lowered the phone. “This is ridiculous. Can’t I just—”

“I’m on the phone,” Merlin whispered then raised the mouthpiece. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get a drink sometime.”

Though Arthur looked torn between exasperated and amused, he smiled. “I’d like that. Are you free right now?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” Merlin agreed, hanging up the phone. He slipped it back in his pocket. “There’s a pub just ‘round the corner.”

Arthur paused, and for a second, Merlin thought he might be rethinking the whole thing, but Arthur leaned forward and kissed him instead. It lasted just long enough for Merlin to close his eyes and let himself be swept away in the softness of Arthur’s mouth, the barest hint of his tongue, before Arthur pulled back.

“On the other hand,” Arthur murmured, “my flat’s a few blocks down. I have an especially pretentious bottle of wine my sister gave me.”

Merlin smiled against the flush rising on his neck. “I suppose it’s for a special occasion?”

“I think this counts,” Arthur replied, licking his lips as he stared at Merlin. This time, Merlin decided, he wasn’t going to ruin it. 

“I think it does,” he agreed. 

He didn’t think twice about leaving, five minutes before the end of his shift, but there was no way he was going to the office to tell Gwaine. He’d tell him tomorrow. So he locked up and barely blushed at all when Arthur took his hand and they headed down the street. It looked as if Merlin had given Arthur something after all. Gwaine had lost his bet and Merlin had won something far better.

*

FIN.


End file.
